


Tomb

by MercySewerPyro



Series: The Tales of the Valiant Nine [2]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Post Towerfall, The Valiant Nine, continues shoving own lore in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 14:57:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13273863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercySewerPyro/pseuds/MercySewerPyro
Summary: The Light is gone. The City has fallen. And a group of Guardians must make their last stand.





	Tomb

The wind howled and screamed, the mountains harsh and forbidding around them as the small group of Guardians slogged through the drifts of snow, on a ledge along a cliff. The City was lost. The Light was gone, and their weakened Ghosts were tucked into armour, into cloaks and hoods. Even now, when the Cabal reigned over Earth and all hope seemed to have evaporated in an instant, these eight were still taking care of their own.

One Guardian, an Awoken Warlock in robes less than adequate for the cold, stumbled at the back of the group. Stumbled, and fell. A Titan moved to help her, to prop her up- It would slow them down, but they had already lost too many to the Cabal.

They could not afford to lose even one more.

“Look! Up ahead!”

The group lifted their heads in response to the Hunter’s call, and there were sounds of relief: ahead of them, the ledge winding around into a crevice hidden in the rock, was a structure. Metal and stone and half-buried in snow, steel statues of bears guarding the massive doors.

This is why they had come. The Tomb of Arka. The last resting place of a Guardian of lore, and a testament to his deeds.

Arka, the Steel Bear, was said to have done many things. To have been the inspiration for the creating of the Sunbreakers. To have been the first armour-smith Guardian ever. Legends even spoke that he was one of the nine first ever risen; all Guardians had heard the tales of that most certainly mythical group. The Valiant Nine, a group whose Light had burned so brightly that they could do feats other Guardians could only dream of.

But whatever the truth was, now Arka’s body and his Ghost were laid to rest here. Here, where Titans would make their pilgrimages, trading stories about how the Solar user must have been the first of their kind.

And now, it would be their refuge. Or they would join Arka in the Final Death.

The group moved hurriedly towards the great doors, the Titans pushing on them until the heavy metal was pushed aside. It was surprisingly warm within the main foyer, a fire burning under the statue of Arka within.

As far as any of the Titans could remember, it had never gone out.

It was a plain room, except for a circle on the floor, an inscription in the center worn out and unreadable except for something about a fire going out. Placed in reverent circles around Arka’s statue are piles of weaponry and armour Titans have left, as offerings towards this dead hero. Titans were not known to be superstitious, but… In the days before the Age of Triumph, any edge Guardians thought they could take, they would. Even if it meant paying homage to one of their own, in the hopes he would guide their hammers and their guns. In the hopes that their armour would withstand the worst that the lands outside the Last City could throw at them.

And now, in their darkest hour, Guardians of all classes in their group found time to give desperate prayer to the Steel Bear, and to murmur quiet apologies as they began to arm themselves with the offerings.

But the Cabal ships found them anyway.

“Get the door closed, now!” Even as they readied their weapons, preparing for a last stand as the blood red thresher roared overhead, the entire group helped to close the doors once more. But, soon the thumping of Cabal bulk came, and the Warlock with her Ghost huddled in her coat cried.

But as the Incendiors’ magma launchers began to create a circle of red heat in the middle of the door, desperate, vicious hope prevailed, and a Titan turned his back to _slam_ against the locked door of Arka’s crypt.

“What are you-!?”

“I’m not going to die in this Traveller-forsaken _tomb_!”

And another Guardian, after a moment’s hesitation, joined in. Then another. And another. The ancient lock failed under the cornered determination of the Guardians, and as the Cabal punched through one door, the Guardians fell back into another.

In the trading of gunfire that erupted as the Cabal spilled inside, the wind suddenly pushing into the room, the fire flickered- And went out.

The Guardians took up positions around a stone sarcophagus, Arka’s image in rock and metal on the lid, still holding a hammer. His Ghost depicted in stone, resting on his chest. This room was more decorated, with figures of bears, with finely wrought armour and swords on stands and on the walls. It was only lit by ancient electrical systems, strips of warm light along where the floor met the wall. Dim, but enough to see in. Enough to fight in.

A Titan breathed an apology to the dead hero, and readied a rocket launcher over his shoulder.

The Guardians held their breath as one. Steeling themselves for the emergence of their enemy, for their Final Deaths.

And with that, the Cabal came.

With fire and the sound of guns came the first Legionnaires, shot down by the rattle of machine gun fire, the weapon propped up against the sarcophagus by a Hunter. But as more spilled in, as Incendiors followed with their raging flame and the war beasts on their heels, the Lightless Guardians were forced back. And back. Soon, all eight of them were backed against the sarcophagus.

A Warlock was bleeding from her shoulder, a Hunter with ragged cuts in his side, a Titan who could feel his ribs bruise as a Cabal slammed him up against the stone, only to be cut down by the other Guardians. All of them were hurt, were damaged and starting to fail.

This was their last stand. The beginning of the end. But for every Guardian killed, twenty Cabal would die. They would make _sure_ of it.

Except, then the lights flickered. Once, twice- And then went out, leaving the only illumination the blocked, clouded over sunlight that spilled from the door the Cabal had broken through.

Something began to smell like smoke, like when you burnt metal and wire. The sarcophagus was suddenly hot to the touch, and the Guardians moved away from it – even though it put them back in reach of the hesitating Cabal.

The Cabal would shake it off soon enough. Raise their guns, their blades, their voices to order the war beasts to attack again- Only to find the war beasts whimpering, turning and running.

When a Legionnaire turned back to the Lightless Guardians, it was then that the sarcophagus went up in _flames_. Angry, white-hot flame that made all parties – Cabal or Guardian – jump back in surprise and fear.

And Solar energy came _roaring_ from the flames.

A war hammer, a shield composed of nothing but marks of Solar Light in the air, the lights bursting to life even brighter than before with a rage that had not been seen in centuries. Even as Legionnaires burnt to a crisp, their armour melting into pools of metal over the floor, the Guardians cowered, afraid and awestruck by this glorious display of power.

But this fear was misplaced. Because the fire had gone out, the Light had vanished-

And Arka, Blademaker, Steel Bear, Forge-tender, had heeded the call, and re-entered the fray.

**Author's Note:**

> "Arka, often known as the Steel Bear, is another of the mythical Valiant Nine. Of them all, his legend is perhaps the one with the most substance to it, as his tomb lies in the mountains beyond the Last City, and is often a place of pilgrimage for Titans. While the claim that he was the inspiration for the Sunbreaker subclass is debatable, it is known for certain that he was an accomplished armour and weapon-smith, and created countless works. While these have all been lost - perhaps some sealed inside his tomb - we still have records of his suits of armour and swords, although there are often embellishments left on the tales of what his works could do. The idea of Light-based rune or spellwork is ridiculous; as we all know, Hive magic is all that uses these things, and only because they have their own realm they draw from. Perhaps the 'hero' dabbled in Darkness more than the stories would dare to admit."  
> \- Unknown Cryptarch


End file.
